


The Only Thing That Matters

by zelda_zee



Category: Lost
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You are a mess, Jack.” There is no sympathy in Sayid’s voice, no pity. He is simply stating a fact.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re as messed up as I am,” Jack replies. “You just wear it better.”</i>
</p><p>Oceanic 6 era, Nirvana!Jack, Assassin!Sayid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Thing That Matters

Jack’s dreaming of the island, of pounding surf and waves crashing on the beach. It’s loud, rhythmic, incessant. He wishes it would fade into the background, the way it did before. Before, back when he was there, it got to the point where he didn’t really notice the sound most of the time, only when he was lying awake at night and there was nothing to distract him. This, though, it doesn’t fade, it just seems to get louder, until with a start he’s waking up, and he has the split-second realization that someone’s pounding on his door and has been for quite some time, when the noise abruptly stops.

He nearly falls off the couch, catching himself with a grunt, the edge of the coffee table digging painfully into his palm. There’s a bottle there and it’s easy enough to reach it, fingers curling tight around the neck. He takes a long drink, sets it back down blindly, his eyes already closing again. They pop open when the doorknob rattles, then he hears a series of soft clicks. He sits up and looks at the door. The clicks are coming from the lock. Someone is picking it. Someone is breaking into his house.

He’s heavy and uncoordinated, his limbs refusing to cooperate as he heaves himself to his feet. The room spins, but he’s moving forward, toward the door. He freezes, a cold shiver working its way down his spine as the lock gives one final click, the bolt sliding back, and the knob slowly turns.

He thinks of the gun in the drawer of his nightstand and the baseball bat in the closet, but it’s too late. Instead he’s standing dully in the middle of his living room, swaying slightly, watching as the door opens, letting in the intruder. The intruder, who is… Sayid.

Jack blinks and frowns, trying to bring Sayid into sharper focus. It’s a novel feeling to wish that he was less fucked up rather than more.

Sayid’s eyes meet his and there’s what feels like an endless moment when nothing is said and they just stare at each other. Then Sayid closes the door, making sure the latch catches and locking it again.

“Hello, Jack.” His voice is quiet, almost as if he’s being careful not to be overheard. “You didn’t answer. I thought perhaps you were out.”

Jack hasn’t seen Sayid in a long time. A long, long time. Not since Nadia died. Not since Jack started drinking. He doesn’t think it’s just the booze (and the pills) that are making him think there’s something different about Sayid. He looks really different. Jack closes his eyes, squeezes them tight. It makes him lose his balance and he staggers before he regains his footing. Sayid is still staring at him out of eyes that don’t hold the friendship and warmth that Jack remembers. His expression is neutral and somehow flat, as if there’s nothing behind it.

His hair is different, tamed into waves, not the curls that Jack recalls. Other than that, there’s no outward sign that anything has changed. Sayid is wearing a black leather jacket and jeans and boots. He looks normal, if a bit… Jack searches for the word and manages to come up with _foreign_ , a sadly obvious choice, but it’s the best his brain can do. Only not normal either, because, Jack decides, there’s something weird about Sayid, something disconcerting and odd. The man in front of him is wearing Sayid’s skin, but he doesn’t _feel_ like Sayid.

He’s not real, Jack thinks. It’s not real. This isn’t Sayid at all.

Jack means to say hello, but instead he says, “'M dreamin’, right?”

Sayid’s eyebrows rise minutely. He tilts his head, but otherwise his expression doesn’t change. “No, Jack. You are not dreaming.”

Jack rubs over his mouth with the back of his hand. “No? Oh. Okay.” He stares at Sayid, but Sayid only looks back at him, giving nothing away. Jack suddenly realizes that he must look just as different to Sayid as Sayid does to him. Only different in a different way. In a – in a not the same way. He blinks, not sure how long he’s been touching his beard. He lets his hand fall to his side. “What’re you doing here?” he asks.

“I understand you spoke to Ben this evening.” Sayid walks slowly into the room, coming around the couch to stand in front of Jack. “You went to see Bentham and Ben found you there, is that right?” Sayid is watching him very closely, his eyes intent on Jack’s face. Jack finds it unnerving, that degree of scrutiny. He doesn’t like people looking at him, especially not people who know what they’re looking for.

“Yeah,” Jack mumbles. He looks away, then at the floor, memories of his conversation with Ben coming back to him in disjointed flashes. How would Sayid know about that? So quickly. It was only a few hours before.

“What did he say to you?” Sayid asks. His voice has gone quiet. Jack thinks that it’s only because he knows Sayid, only because he and Sayid have shared the experiences they have that Jack can hear the tension laced through every word.

Jack takes a deep breath and tries to decide if he should tell Sayid what Ben said. He doesn’t know what Sayid knows. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he can trust him, which – he shakes his head, attempting to get his thoughts straight. Of course he can trust Sayid. Why wouldn’t he trust Sayid?

“He said we have to go back, all of us.” Jack meets Sayid’s eyes. He knows he isn’t hiding his feelings, that Sayid can see right through him, that everything is written on his face. “He said things won’t be right ‘til we do. I told him I didn’t know where you were. Where have you been, Sayid? All this time – after Nadia – you were in Iraq we thought - I thought – and then you disappeared – you were just _gone_ , and fuck, I’m so fucking sorry, Sayid. I’m so sorry about Nadia and – and everything.” Jack’s voice is shaking and his hands are too. He can’t rein in his emotions when he’s wasted, can’t stop himself from saying things he shouldn’t. He blinks back tears, sniffs, presses his lips together before a single soft sob escapes. “When I – when everything went to shit – Kate and I – do you even know Hurley’s in the – _Jesus_ , Sayid, where the _hell_ have you been?”

“I have been… traveling.” Sayid says. He clasps his hands in front of himself. “I have been abroad for a long time. I am sorry if you were unable to reach me.” Sayid’s eyes move over Jack’s face. He looks so distant and disinterested that Jack’s momentarily flummoxed. He knew Sayid could be calculating, but Jack had never before thought of him as cold. When Sayid speaks, his voice is steel and ice. “Tell me what else Ben said, Jack.”

Jack stares at him in confusion. “Who the fuck cares what Ben said? He didn’t say anything else, just what I told you! I haven’t seen you in years and all you care about is what Ben had to say? Why are you being like this?” Jack hears the hint of a whine in his voice, but it’s too late to stifle it. “What the hell’s going on? What’s happened to you?”

“Tell me what he said, and then I will go.”

“Why did you come here?” Jack implores. “Was it really just to find out what Ben said to me?”

Sayid stares impassively at him for a moment. “Of course. Why else would I have come?”

“Why else?!” Jack stammers. “Why else?!” His voice is rising, but he doesn’t care. “Maybe because you gave a fuck, how about that? Maybe because you cared what happened to us, or is that just not important enough?”

“All of this was your idea, Jack,” Sayid says, no change of inflection, no sign of a crack in the façade. “I warned you, on the boat. I told you there would be consequences.”

“Oh, now you’re saying ‘I told you so’?!” Jack sneers. “That’s really great. Thanks, Sayid. Thanks for showing up after two and a half years to let me know how I’ve fucked up. That’s really helpful. Thanks a lot.”

Sayid doesn’t give any sign that he’s heard. “Tell me what else Ben said.”

“Whaddya mean, ‘what else’? I told you, that’s it. I told you everything.”

“He said nothing about me?”

“About – what? No.” Jack casts about in his memory. Only a few hours ago, but it’s already fuzzy around the edges. He’s not sure why Sayid would think Ben would say anything about him, can’t imagine why he would care if he had. “He said – um. He said he would find you, I think. I said I didn’t know where you were and he said he would take care of it.”

“I see.” Sayid’s eyes bore into his for a long, awful moment and then he nods once, his gaze flickering and for just an instant Jack gets the impression that Sayid is profoundly relieved. “Very well. Then I will disturb you no longer.” He turns toward the door and Jack realizes that he’s about to leave, to just walk away.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Jack grabs Sayid by the shoulder and shakes him, the pushes him, hard. Sayid stumbles, but catches himself before he falls. He straightens, tugs at his jacket until it’s once again unrumpled, checks his collar to be sure it’s even. When he looks at Jack, he’s smiling. It’s not a very nice smile.

“ _You_ ask me that?” Sayid gestures to Jack, palm upward, taking in his dirty, stained clothing, his slovenly appearance. “Look at yourself, Jack. What do you think you accomplish by letting yourself get into this state?”

“ _Accomplish?_ ” He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to accomplish anything. I’m just trying to. I can’t just ignore… ignore… I can’t just _forget_.”

He thinks that gets to Sayid. It’s so damned hard to tell, but he thinks he sees his spine stiffen, his nostrils flare. He definitely blinks, that much Jack is sure of.

“You think that I forget? Forgetting was _your_ great plan, Jack. Forgetting so that we could save them. Or was it so that we could save ourselves?” He snorts and looks away. “ _Forget_. Unlike you, I have not the luxury of being able to forget.”

Jack’s eyes slide away, tracking around the room. He sees the bottle he left on the coffee table when he went to answer the door and suddenly the need for a drink overwhelms him. He’s not drunk enough to deal with Sayid, and especially not with this new incarnation of Sayid. His mouth waters and he tries to figure out if there’s a way to get a drink without giving away how badly he wants it.

There’s no need though, for Sayid has followed his gaze. “Go ahead." Jack looks at him and Sayid raises his eyebrows. “Go. Ahead,” he repeats, more emphatically. “You will not be able to focus on anything else until you do, so…”

Jack thinks there was a time when he would have demurred, made up some excuse about why his eyes were resting with such lust on a bottle of booze - _distracted, thinking of something else, whatever_ \- now though, he just edges around Sayid, picks up the bottle and tilts it back, not even bothering with the decorum of pouring it into a glass first. He wouldn’t fool Sayid, so why should he try?

The bourbon burns going down, but then it soothes and spreads warmth throughout his body. He relaxes and feels everything go a bit soft, unfocused. He was drunk before, but not drunk enough. He takes another swig, thinking maybe this one will get him where he needs to be.

Sayid is watching him with that too cool, distant look upon his face, like nothing touches him, like he feels nothing. How can he feel nothing when Jack feels _everything_?

“What’re you lookin’ at?” he spits. It comes out slurred and sloppy. He sways on his feet as Sayid’s face moves in and out of focus, only his eyes, dark and knowing and intent, remain clear in his vision.

Sayid’s gaze drops to the floor. He shakes his head, sighs. “This is pointless.” He turns and Jack realizes he’s giving up, he’s leaving. He reaches out and grabs Sayid by the front of his shirt, yanks him around and slams him against the wall. He misjudges the amount of force he uses and Sayid’s head hits the wall with a thunk. He doesn’t give Sayid time to react, he just pushes up against him, holds him in place with his body. Sayid is warm against him, even through the layers of their clothing. Jack can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his torso is all hard angle and flat plane, the tension vibrating in every muscle. Sayid’s hand wraps around Jack’s wrist, his thumb digging in painfully.

In some faraway part of his brain, Jack knows he should let go. He knows this, but his hands and his body seem independent of this thought. He shuffles closer and now they’re pressed tightly together, not a breath of space between them. Something digs into Jack’s chest, sharp and hard, and it takes him a minute to figure out that it’s Sayid’s gun in his shoulder holster.

“Stop it,” Sayid says, a clear warning. His voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the threat. “Do not test me, Jack.”

“What‘re you gonna do about it, hunh?” He’s doing exactly what Sayid warned him of – testing, pushing. He’s hoping that somewhere inside is the Sayid he’d have trusted with his life – who he _had_ trusted with his life, with all their lives, numerous times. “You gonna pull out that gun and blow my brains out? Why’re you wearin’ that thing anyway? You planning on shootin’ someone?”

He feels Sayid go still against him, hears his sudden indrawn breath and Jack knows he’s hit a nerve, he’s just not sure what it is that he said. Something about the gun? About shooting someone? Could Sayid really be planning to shoot someone?

Jack bows his head so that his nose touches Sayid’s scalp. He smells of some fresh-scented product, maybe what he puts in his hair these days to make it straight.

“Why’re you like this?” Jack mumbles. His voice has taken on a plaintive quality. He can hear it but he can’t do anything about it. His lips move in Sayid's hair. He’s never been this close to Sayid before. Never been this close to a man, period. “What happened to you?”

Sayid hasn’t moved, just the quick motion of his chest against Jack’s as he breathes. Jack leans closer, unable to help himself.

“You know what happened to me, Jack,” Sayid says. There’s something raw to his tone that Jack hasn’t heard before.

“Yeah,” Jack whispers. His hands frame Sayid’s face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “I know what happened to you.”

He’s sorry. He’s so damn sorry. Everything is wrong, everything he tried to make right. Maybe if he was the only one to suffer from it, maybe then it wouldn’t matter so much. But they all suffer, the ones here, they suffer so much, and the ones they left behind, maybe it’s even worse for them. And Sayid… Jack doesn’t understand what’s wrong with Sayid. It’s something terrible. Something he doesn’t think he wants to know about.

Tears threaten. He cries a lot when he’s drunk, but he doesn’t want to cry now. It feels too good to have Sayid pressed against him, he doesn’t want to ruin it by crying. Jack’s fingers slide into Sayid’s hair. It’s so soft, like a woman’s.

“Why d’you do this to your hair?” he asks. “Why ‘sn’t it curly anymore?”

Sayid chuckles. Jack feels his breath huff against his neck. “Why did you grow a beard?” Sayid looks up, meets Jack’s eyes. Jack looks down, surprised at how short Sayid is. It’s so much more noticeable close up. He’s small too. It’s amazing that someone so slight can be so deadly.

Jack feels – something, he’s not sure what. Something hot that slides slowly over his skin and sinks into him, mixing with the alcohol buzz and the oxy still going strong in his system. He closes his eyes and lets it flow through him. It feels like the perfect high.

“What?” Sayid asks, and Jack realizes that he must have spoken aloud.

“Perfect high,” he mutters. He opens his eyes. They’re heavy and want to fall shut again, but he focuses on Sayid.

Sayid blinks and Jack watches the sweep of his eyelashes as they lay against his cheek for the briefest instant. He’d never noticed the slant at the outward edge of Sayid’s eyes, or the way they’re so dark that they look black, even this close. He doesn’t realize that his thumbs are rubbing over Sayid’s temples, smoothing down the slope of his eyebrows until he sees them there.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Sayid’s voice is poised, polite, as if he’s just asking the time.

An undignified giggle forces itself up out of Jack’s chest. “I dunno.” He doesn’t. He doesn’t have the faintest idea. He’s never touched a man like this in his life. He doesn’t know what he wants. It feels like he wants everything.

His eyes fall to Sayid’s mouth and suddenly he knows. He wants to kiss him. He bends closer, but Sayid turns his head away.

“You are inebriated,” he states. “You do not know what you are doing.”

“I don’t care.” Jack turns Sayid’s head back to face him. Jack can’t read Sayid’s expression. He’s not sure if that matters to him anyway. “I really don’t care.”

Jack kisses him and Sayid doesn’t struggle. That must mean something, Jack thinks. Maybe it means he wants it too.

He hasn’t kissed anyone since Kate. Hasn’t kissed a man – ever. It’s a flood of sensation, one thing after another – the fullness of Sayid’s lips, the strange scratch of his beard, the way he smells faintly of sweat and cologne, how his head tilts back into Jack’s hand when he kisses Sayid harder, the pressure of his hands against Jack’s chest, not quite pushing him away, the hitch of his breath when Jack changes the angle and deepens the kiss with a groan, pushing his tongue into Sayid’s mouth. It’s a blur of hot and wet and soft flesh and Sayid’s tongue against his and he realizes that Sayid is kissing him back and he doesn’t know why, can hardly believe it’s happening, but it is. The feel of Sayid’s tongue and Sayid’s mouth is intoxicating. He realizes that he’s grinding rhythmically against Sayid’s hip. He can’t remember the last time he had an erection, but he does now, he’s so hard that he’s aching with it and when he shifts his leg so his thigh pushes against Sayid’s crotch he can feel his cock, not fully erect, not yet, but solid. He presses against it and Sayid’s mouth opens a little wider and Jack hears his breath catch.

Jack wonders if Sayid has done this before – kissed a man. Done other things with a man. The thought that he might have sends a jolt of arousal through Jack. It makes him realize he wants more. He leans a hand on the wall beside Sayid’s head, holding himself up. His other hand holds Sayid’s jaw, tilting it up the way he wants it. At some point Sayid had surrendered. Jack hadn’t even noticed it, but now he’s kissing Jack, his mouth wide, his tongue eager. His hands are resting on Jack’s hips, holding tight. Jack feels like he’s being sucked into a vortex, like Sayid’s mouth is the center of his world, everything narrowed down to that.

When he pulls back, Sayid is panting, his mouth wet and open, his eyes heavy but startled. He takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. Jack can see a rosy flush on his cheeks despite the darkness of his complexion and when he presses his knee between Sayid’s legs he can feel him firm against his thigh. He rubs over Sayid’s cock and watches his jaw clench and his eyes flutter closed, a little crease appearing between his brows.

When Sayid opens his eyes again, Jack sighs with relief at what he sees in them. “There you are,” he breathes. He cradles Sayid’s face in his palm. “I was lookin’ for you.”

He doubts Sayid knows what he means, but that’s okay. If he knew he’d just hide again.

“You – you need to stop, Jack,” Sayid says. “We need to stop this. Now.” His voice is very firm, very decided. Jack ignores it.

He rubs his cheek against Sayid’s and wishes he didn’t have the beard so that he could feel Sayid’s against his bare skin. He nuzzles into Sayid’s hair and licks his ear and feels the shiver that follows in the hand that still cradles Sayid’s head.

“D’you know,” he whispers into Sayid’s ear. “How fuckin’ long it’s been since I’ve wanted something?”

He hears Sayid swallow. “This is foolish, Jack. You are not – you don’t even –” He cuts himself off on a sudden intake of breath when Jack sucks on his earlobe.

“Don’t even what?” Jack whispers. His voice sounds hoarse, feels tight in his throat.

“You don’t even like men.”

“Do you?” Jack asks. He’s curious. He’d never thought about the possibility that Sayid might swing both ways – it just had never come up before, back on the island. Sayid doesn’t answer and Jack pulls back enough to meet his eyes. Sayid gives him a long, steady look and Jack guesses that’s answer enough.

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Jack mumbles, leaning forward until he’s resting his forehead against Sayid’s. “None of it matters.” His fingers trace over Sayid's face, down his neck. “The only thing that matters is this.”

Jack really doesn’t have a fucking thing to lose anymore, and of all the things there are to be afraid of, this doesn’t even register, and he’s told himself so many lies that some days he can’t remember if a single thing he knows is true, but this, _this_ is real. He knows it’s real, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol and despair. He wants Sayid – not the cold, distant man who won’t let the world touch him, but the man beneath his hands now, the man whose eyes are shining and whose body is trembling and who arches into Jack's touch when he shoves his hand beneath the waistband of his trousers and wraps it around his cock.

“Jack,” Sayid rasps, his voice strained and trembling. “S-stop. You have to stop.” His hips stutter forward though, cock hardening fast against Jack’s palm.

Jack thinks he’d stop if Sayid really wanted him to. He _thinks_ he would. He’s not really sure. It doesn’t matter though, because Sayid doesn’t want him to stop. He’s just afraid. Jack would be afraid too if he wasn’t drunk. As it is he feels fearless and horny as hell – even though he knows he’s probably too wasted to come – and fascinated by having Sayid so close, feeling him all along his body, being able to bend down and kiss his mouth – a mouth that’s surprisingly soft and pliant and that seems to want to be kissed, that kisses Jack back and opens beneath his even if it’s saying _stop, stop_.

Jack pulls back just enough to stare into Sayid’s face. “You’re so –” he breathes. “So –” He doesn’t know what the word is – he can’t tell Sayid that he’s beautiful – that he’s pretty, even though those are the words that come to mind. Jack doesn’t think Sayid would accept that from him and he doesn’t want to piss him off. But he _is_ beautiful, Jack thinks hazily, though he’s never thought of Sayid in those terms before. Jack has a sudden image of Sayid spread out naked on his bed, skin glowing and sheened with sweat, hair wild, eyes dark and hazy. The vision hits him with a jolt, makes him groan and bite at Sayid’s lips, fist his cock fast and rough. Sayid is clinging to him, hips pushing into the rhythm of Jack’s hand, making a tamped-down, growling sound in his throat that Jack can barely hear over the pounding of his own heart.

Jack’s hot and dizzy and his grasp on reality, tenuous at best, has loosened until he couldn’t say where he is or who he is or why he’s doing what he’s doing. It just feels good, feels right in a way that nothing has in a very long time.

“I have to –” Jack gasps, then kisses Sayid deep and hard. “Oh god, I have to –” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, _can’t_ say it, can’t bring himself to utter the words. He goes down onto his knees instead, leans forward and presses his face to Sayid’s crotch, mouthing over his erection. Jack inhales deeply, takes in the smell of Sayid, warm and musky. It makes his head spin. “Please, Sayid,” he mutters indistinctly, his words blurred by the soft wool of Sayid’s pants. “God, please, let me.”

Jack feels Sayid’s hand on his head, stroking gently over his hair. The sensation sends tingles over his skin and he tips his head into it, making a little humming sound. The gesture is as much permission as he needs and he fumbles at Sayid’s fly, his heart thumping crazily. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s going to suck a guy off. God, he’s going to suck Sayid off. It suddenly seems like the hottest thing he’s ever heard of, even though his hands are shaking so hard he can barely work the zipper down. He’s lightheaded with fear and desire and disbelief and when he pushes Sayid’s trousers over his hips and his cock is right there in front of his face, flushed and hard and frighteningly, overwhelmingly male, he has a moment of disconnect, a moment when he literally has no idea what the hell he’s doing. And then, because he doesn’t know what else to do, won’t turn back, won’t stop, he takes Sayid’s cock in his mouth and sucks.

It’s – it’s not like he expected. It tastes pretty weird and it’s strange to have this big _thing_ in his mouth and Jack’s very aware that the _thing_ is connected to Sayid, could hardly forget that with the way Sayid’s fingers are digging into his scalp and the way his whole body shudders as he pants. Jack tries bobbing his head a bit, tonguing along the underside. He can feel the vein there, the indentation just beneath the ridge. He wriggles his tongue against it and a drop of warm saltiness spills into his mouth. Sayid’s head thumps as in hits the wall and he mumbles something that Jack can’t hear. Jack runs his hands over Sayid’s thighs, up to his hips. He can feel how tense Sayid is, his body thrumming with the desire to thrust, to fuck. Jack moans, swallows down as much of Sayid’s cock as he can, trying to take him all the way. He gags and has to pull back and cough. Sayid makes a sympathetic sound, his hand smoothing over Jack's head.

"You do not have to do this, Jack. You don't -"

"Shut up." Jack inhales, clears his throat. "I want to." He's blushing and he can't look up and meet Sayid's eyes. "I want this." He takes Sayid in as deeply as he can again, this time without going farther than he's able.

He does want it. God, he wants this, he _wants_ it. He never knew he would want this so much. It feels so good, to offer something and have it be accepted. To forget about who he was supposed to be and just be who he _is_.

Sayid’s hips twist and he thrusts. Jack makes a greedy noise, opens wider so Sayid can fuck his mouth and he does, fast and shallow, his hand tight on Jack’s head. It’s wet and messy and noisy, there are tears leaking out of Jack’s eyes and he’s got no idea if it’s just a physical response or if it’s something more. He doesn’t even care, too turned on, even though his jaw’s aching and the floor is hard beneath his knees and he’s really got no clue if he’s doing any of this right.

“Jack,” Sayid gasps. “Oh, I’m – oh _Jaaa –_ ,” and before Jack realizes that it’s a warning Sayid’s cock pulses hard, filling his mouth with warmth and liquid and bittersalt. Jack squeezes his eyes shut and swallows, then sucks some more, loving the way that makes Sayid mewl like he’s in pain.

Jack presses his palm against his cock, rubs himself roughly through his jeans. He feels dirty, touching himself while he’s doing this, while he’s sucking Sayid’s dick, swallowing his come. He thinks about what it must look like and heat rolls through him in a full-body rush. He laments the fact that he’s too wasted to come in the second before he does. It hits him hard and sudden, his cock erupting in a surge of sweet, aching pleasure. His eyes fly open on a shocked gasp that rolls into a low, guttural moan as he spurts, hot and sticky, into his jeans. He digs his fingers into Sayid’s hip, shuddering, lets his cock slip from between his lips and presses his face into Sayid’s thigh, struggling for air.

God, he came in his pants with Sayid’s cock in his mouth. Oh, _God_.

Sayid slides down the wall until he’s kneeling in front of Jack. His hand comes to Jack’s face and Jack leans into him. He’s fading, everything graying out around the edges. His eyes are heavy, wanting to close, but he’s not going to pass out with Sayid here.

“Come on,” Sayid says softly. “You should get into to bed.” He rises to his feet and adjusts his clothing, then helps Jack up, steadying him when he stumbles. Jack grimaces at the way his underwear feels cold and clammy, plastered against his skin

“I need to change,” he mumbles. Sayid looks at him curiously. “My clothes,” Jack amends. “I – uh –” He blushes when Sayid spies the wet spot on his jeans, his eyebrows rising in comprehension.

“All right.” Sayid walks with him to his bedroom, not supporting him but with a hand on his waist. Jack could protest that he’s capable of walking down his own hallway, but he doesn’t see the point. It’s not like the world will end if he lets someone look after him for a few minutes. He’s got a vague impression that this is something new, but he’s too exhausted to examine it.

Sayid disappears into the bathroom and Jack clumsily strips off his clothes, letting them fall where they may, then tumbles into bed. He’s about to pull up the sheet but Sayid is there, stopping him. He’s got a washcloth in his hand and he sits on the bed beside Jack and cleans him off. Jack squirms, too conscious of how good it feels, warm and wet against his skin. Acutely conscious of being naked, and Sayid sitting beside him fully clothed. He’s glad he’s got too much booze and oxy in him to get it up again, because if he didn’t he’d surely embarrass himself. Jack wants to kiss him and thank him and wrap himself around him and keep him here. Most of all, he doesn’t want Sayid to go, not when he doesn’t know when or if he’ll ever see him again. Most of all, Jack doesn’t want to be alone.

Sayid looks up and meets his gaze and Jack knows it’s all there in his face. Unlike Sayid, he was never that good at hiding things.

The minute stretches, their eyes locked together.

“You are a mess, Jack.” There is no sympathy in Sayid’s voice, no pity. He is simply stating a fact.

“You’re as messed up as I am,” Jack replies. “You just wear it better.”

Sayid strokes Jack’s forehead, then down to his jaw. “I would like to shave off this beard.”

“I’ll let you do that,” Jack promises. “In the morning.” He takes an unsteady breath. “Will you stay? I – I want you to stay.” He looks away, unable to let Sayid see how much he _needs_ him to say yes.

“I shouldn’t.” Sayid sits back, looks around the room, anywhere but at Jack. “There are things –” He breaks off, closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jack, there are things happening – things of which you have no idea.” He bows his head, his voice becoming breathy and quiet. “Things that you don’t know. That you should never have to know.”

Jack grabs Sayid’s wrist. His fingers circle almost all the way around it, and again it strikes him how deceptively delicate Sayid can seem. Sayid’s eyes meet his and Jack shakes his head slowly.

“Just – stay.” He’s pleading, but he doesn’t care. “All that – it can wait until tomorrow, can’t it? Can’t you just – stay?”

Sayid takes a breath, releases it in a long sigh. Jack notices for the first time that he looks very tired.

“All right. I will stay, if you want me to.” Sayid takes off his jacket and his gun, unbuttons his cuffs. He turns his back, but Jack can’t tear his eyes away, watching as Sayid unbuttons his shirt, removes his shoes and socks, steps out of his pants, draping his clothes neatly over the back of an armchair. He turns out the light, gets into bed in his boxers.

Jack turns toward him, reaches out beneath the blankets, encountering the warm, smooth skin of Sayid’s waist.

“You’ll be here in the morning?” Jack asks, hating how tentative and vulnerable he sounds.

“You said I could shave off your beard,” Sayid murmurs and Jack thinks he can hear a smile in his voice. His fingertips play lightly over Jack’s chin, rubbing at the hair.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs, relaxing under Sayid’s touch.

“I would not want to miss out on that.” Sayid draws his hand back, but Jack catches it and Sayid lets him, doesn’t even protest when Jack laces their fingers together. Jack lets himself drift, Sayid’s hand warm in his, holding on.


End file.
